The Wandering Jew, Book VIII.. by Eugene Sue (feel good novels txt) 📕

India to Paris. And then, how could these charming

exquisites, with their small hats, their scanty frock-coats, and their

huge cravats, compare with the Indian prince, whose graceful and manly

beauty was still heightened by the splendor of a costume, at once so rich

and so picturesque?

 

On this happy day, all was joy and love for Adrienne. The sun, setting in

a splendidly serene sky, flooded the promenade with its golden light. The

air was warm. Carriages and horsemen passed and repassed in rapid

succession; a light breeze played with the scarfs of the women, and the

plumes in their bonnets; all around was noise, movement, sunshine.

Adrienne, leaning back in her carriage, amused herself with watching this

busy scene, sparkling with Parisian luxury; but, in the vortex of this

brilliant chaos, she saw in thought the mild, melancholy countenance of

Djalma--when suddenly something fell into her lap, and she started. It

was a bunch of half-faded violets. At the same instant she heard a

child's voice following the carriage, and saying: "For the love of

heaven, my good lady, one little sou!" Adrienne turned her head, and saw

a poor little girl, pale and wan, with mild, sorrowful features, scarcely

covered with rags, holding out her hand, and raising her eyes in

supplication. Though the striking contrast of extreme misery, side by

side with extreme luxury, is so common, that it no longer excites

attention, Adrienne was deeply affected by it. She thought of Mother

Bunch, now, perhaps, the victim of frightful destitution.

 

"Ah! at least," thought the young lady, "let not this day be one of

happiness for me alone!"

 

She leaned from the carriage-window, and said to the poor child: "Have

you a mother, my dear?"

 

"No, my lady, I have neither father nor mother."

 

"Who takes care of you?"

 

"No one, my lady. They give me nosegays to sell, and I must bring home

money--or they beat me."

 

"Poor little thing!"

 

"A sou, my good lady--a sou, for the love of heaven!" said the child,

continuing to follow the carriage, which was then moving slowly.

 

"My dear count," said Adrienne, smiling, and addressing M. de Montbron,

"you are, unfortunately, no novice at an elopement. Please to stretch

forth your arms, take up that child with both hands, and lift her into

the carriage. We can hide her between Lady de Morinval and myself; and we

can drive away before any one perceives this audacious abduction."

 

"What!" said the count, in surprise. "You wish--"

 

"Yes; I beg you to do it."

 

"What a folly!"

 

"Yesterday, you might, perhaps, have treated this caprice as a folly; but

to-day," said Adrienne, laying great stress upon the word, and glancing

at M. de Montbron with a significant air, "to-day, you should understand

that it is almost a duty."

 

"Yes, I understand you, good and noble heart!" said the count, with

emotion; while Lady de Morinval, who knew nothing of Mdlle. de

Cardoville's love for Djalma, looked with as much surprise as curiosity

at the count and the young lady.

 

de Montbron, leaning from the carriage, stretched out his arms towards

the child, and said to her: "Give me your hands, little girl."

 

Though much astonished, the child obeyed mechanically, and held out both

her little arms; then the count took her by the wrists, and lifted her

lightly from the ground, which he did the more easily, as the carnage was

very low, and its progress by no means rapid. More stupefied than

frightened, the child said not a word. Adrienne and Lady de Morinval made

room for her to crouch down between them, and the little girl was soon

hidden beneath the shawls of the two young women. All this was executed

so quickly, that it was hardly perceived by a few persons passing in the

side-avenues.

 

"Now, my dear count," said Adrienne, radiant with pleasure, "let us make

off at once with our prey."

 

de Montbron half rose, and called to the postilions. "Home!" and the

four horses started at once into a rapid and regular trot.

 

"This day of happiness now seems consecrated, and my luxury is excused,"

thought Adrienne; "till I can again meet with that poor Mother Bunch, and

from this day I will make every exertion to find her out, her place will

at least not be quite empty."

 

There are often strange coincidences in life. At the moment when this

thought of the hunchback crossed the mind of Adrienne, a crowd had

collected in one of the side-avenues, and other persons soon ran to join

the group.

 

"Look, uncle!" said Lady de Morinval; "how many people are assembled

yonder. What can it be? Shall we stop, and send to inquire?"

 

"I am sorry, my dear, but your curiosity cannot be satisfied," said the

count, drawing out his watch; "it will soon be six o'clock, and the

exhibition of the wild beasts begin at eight. We shall only just have

time to go home and dine. Is not that your opinion, my dear child?" said

he to Adrienne.

 

"And yours, Julia?" said Mdlle. de Cardoville to the marchioness.

 

"Oh, certainly!" answered her friend.

 

"I am the less inclined to delay," resumed the count, "as when I have

taken you to the Porte-Saint-Martin, I shall be obliged to go for half

an-hour to my club, to ballot for Lord Campbell, whom I propose."

 

"Then, Adrienne and I will be left alone at the play, uncle?"

 

"Your husband will go with you, I suppose."

 

"True, dear uncle; but do not quite leave us, because of that."

 

"Be sure I shall not: for I am curious as you are to see these terrible

animals, and the famous Morok, the incomparable lion-tamer."

 

A few minutes after, Mdlle. de Cardoville's carriage had left the Champs

Elysees, carrying with it the little girl, and directing its course

towards the Rue d'Anjou. As the brilliant equipage disappeared from the

scene, the crowd, of which we before have spoken, greatly increased about

one of the large trees in the Champs-Elysees, and expressions of pity

were heard here and there amongst the groups. A lounger approached a

young man on the skirts of the crowd, and said to him: "What is the

matter, sir?"

 

"I hear it is a poor young girl, a hunchback, that has fallen from

exhaustion."

 

"A hunchback! is that all? There will always be enough hunchbacks," said

the lounger, brutally, with a coarse laugh.

 

"Hunchback or not, if she dies of hunger," answered the young man,

scarcely able to restrain his indignation, "it will be no less sad--and

there is really nothing to laugh at, sir."

 

"Die of hunger! pooh!" said the lounger, shrugging his shoulders. "It is

only lazy scoundrels, that will not work, who die of hunger. And it

serves them right."

 

"I wager, sir, there is one death you will never die of," cried the young

man, incensed at the cruel insolence of the lounger.

 

"What do you mean?" answered the other, haughtily.

 

"I mean, sir, that your heart is not likely to kill you."

 

"Sir!" cried the lounger in an angry tone.

 

"Well! what, sir?" replied the young man, looking full in his face.

 

"Nothing," said the lounger, turning abruptly on his heel, and grumbling

as he sauntered towards an orange-colored cabriolet, on which was

emblazoned an enormous coat-of-arms, surmounted by a baron's crest. A

servant in green livery, ridiculously laced with gold, was standing

beside the horse, and did not perceive his master.

 

"Are you catching flies, fool?" said the latter, pushing him with his

cane. The servant turned round in confusion. "Sir," said he.

 

"Will you never learn to call me Monsieur le Baron, rascal?" cried his

master, in a rage--"Open the door directly!"

 

The lounger was Baron Tripeaud, the manufacturing baron the stock-jobber.

The poor hunchback was Mother Bunch, who had, indeed fallen with hunger

and fatigue, whilst on her way to Mdlle. de Cardoville's. The unfortunate

creature had found courage to brave the shame of the ridicule she so much

feared, by returning to that house from which she was a voluntary exile;

but this time, it was not for herself, but for her sister Cephyse--the

Bacchanal Queen, who had returned to Paris the previous day, and whom

Mother Bunch now sought, through the means of Adrienne, to rescue from a

most dreadful fate.

 

Two hours after these different scenes, an enormous crowd pressed round

the doors of the Porte-Saint-Martin, to witness the exercises of Morok,

who was about to perform a mock combat with the famous black panther of

Java, named Death. Adrienne, accompanied by Lord and Lady de Morinval,

now stepped from a carriage at the entrance of the theatre. They were to

be joined in the course of the evening by M. de Montbron, whom they had

dropped, in passing, at his club.

 

 

CHAPTER XII. (BEHIND THE SCENES.)

The large theatre of the Porte-Saint-Martin was crowded by an impatient

multitude. All Paris had hurried with eager and burning curiosity to

Morok's exhibition. It is quite unnecessary to say that the lion-tamer

had completely abandoned his small taste in religious baubles, which he

had so successfully carried on at the White Falcon Inn at Leipsic. There

were, moreover, numerous tokens by which the surprising effects of

Morok's sudden conversion had been blazoned in the most extraordinary

pictures: the antiquated baubles in which he had formerly dealt would

have found no sale in Paris. Morok had nearly finished dressing himself,

in one of the actor's rooms, which had been lent to him. Over a coat of

mail, with cuishes and brassarts, he wore an ample pair of red trousers,

fastened round his ankles by broad rings of gilt brass. His long caftan

of black cloth, embroidered with scarlet and gold, was bound round his

waist and wrist by other large rings of gilt metal. This sombre costume

imparted to him an aspect still more ferocious. His thick and red-haired

beard fell in large quantities down to his chest, and a long piece of

white muslin was folded round his red head. A devout missionary in

Germany and an actor in Paris, Morok knew as well as his employers, the

Jesuits, how to accommodate himself to circumstances.

 

Seated in one corner of the room, and contemplating with a sort of stupid

admiration, was Jacques Rennepont, better known as "Sleepinbuff" (from

the likelihood that he would end his days in rags, or his present

antipathy to great care in dress). Since the day Hardy's factory had been

destroyed by fire, Jacques had not quitted Morok, passing the nights in

excesses, which had no baneful effects on the iron constitution of the

lion-tamer. On the other's features, on the contrary, a great alteration

was perceptible; his hollow cheeks, marble pallor, his eyes, by turns

dull and heavy, or gleaming with lurid fire, betrayed the ravages of

debauchery, his parched lips were almost constantly curled by a bitter

and sardonic smile. His spirit, once gay and sanguine, still struggled

against the besotting influence of habitual intoxication. Unfitted for

labor, no longer able to forego gross pleasures, Jacques sought to drown

in wine a few virtuous impulses which he still possessed, and had sunk so

low as to accept without shame the large dole of sensual gratification

proffered him by Morok, who paid all the expenses of their orgies, but

never gave him money, in order that he might be completely dependent on

him. After gazing at Morok for some time in amazement, Jacques said to

him, in a familiar tone: "Well, yours is a famous trade; you may boast

that, at this moment, there are not two men like you in the whole world

That's flattering. It's a pity you don't stick to this fine trade."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Why, how is the conspiracy going on, in whose honor you make me keep it

up all day and all night?"

 

"It is working, but the time is not yet come; that is why I wish to have

you always at hand, till the great day. Do you complain?"

 

"Hang it, no!" said Jacques. "What could I do? Burnt up with brandy as I

am, if I wanted to work, I've no longer the strength to do so. I have

not, like you, a head of marble, and a body of iron; but as for